Any and all persons posting off-season content on the inter-webs pertaining to the frosty C-holiday ought to be tarred, feathered and run through the wood chipper… twice.

I know, that’s a bit harsh, but the C-holiday doesn’t exactly bring out the best in me. In fact, it’s stress-filled obligatory energy has me spiraling right into the Grinchy Hulk, which is a creature similar to the oversized kick-ass green guy, except with a more wicked, vile disposition and impressively thick psychiatric file to boot.

Grinch Hulk is a force to be reckoned with.

Sing it…

“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch. You’re a muther-duckin prick…”

The following rewrite is a necessary polishing where all of my estranged holiday posts have been carefully strung together like a holiday turd necklace… for your reading pleasure.

Also, I’m sending a copy to each degenerate elf in the North Pole who have nothing better to do as they’re drying out during the annual substance-abuse rehab.

It’s kind of like a community service for short overworked toy-making indentured servants, to prevent them from going North Pole postal.

This is your final chance to turn back. Stop reading. The C-holiday is about to be mentioned.

Things that make the holidays JOYFUL #1

My favorite part of Christmas is definitely when the kids haul out all seventy bazillion boxes of decorations, dig through them like little spider-monkey’s-with-ADHD-on-crack, flinging festive fuckery everywhere… and LEAVE.

I did say LEAVE.

POOF… they’re gone.

Leaving you standing like a catatonic deer caught in Hells headlights.

Things that make the season JOYFUL- #2

FuckYou lights.

They’re distinctly different from regular holiday lights because A. they don’t light and B. they’re wrapped around mutherfucking-garland, which is obviously different from regular garland because it’s tangled in fuckyou lights.

Things that make the season JOYFUL- #3

Who writes a holiday song about a sorry-sap kid who spends his last dollar buying new shoes for his terminally ill mom?

Is it the songwriters intention to suck every last bit of merriment out of an otherwise festive occasion?

Why not just drown a litter of blind three-legged puppies?

Note to my children- if you buy me shoes as a departing gift, I will hurl them at you like a boomerang. A more thoughtful gift would be something in the ballpark of 80ish proof.

Perhaps the dying mother was an ancestor of a certain Wizard of Oz character and her well-meaning offspring assumed her shoes would be the FINAL impression she left on the world, much like her witchy cousin from the east, in which case and only then, bitchin shoes would be a must have departing accessory.

THAT makes perfect sense and would make the song considerably less pitiful.

Hurray for bitchin shoes.

When I leave this world, I definitely want to be wearing ass-kicking shoes, preferably red patent leather that were not necessarily a gift from my children and probably something I bought from QVC when I was drunk on 80 proof spirits that was gifted unto me.

The lyrics have a whole new meaning now. You will never be able to hear it again, without thinking of flying houses, brooms and shiny red shoes.

Things that make the season JOYFUL- #4

Unfortunately, there are unlimited examples of this particular brain piercing phenomenon.

Today, we’re specifically referring to holiday light clusterfucks.

I have in hand, brand new lights right-out-of-the-box that happen to be a very complicated and entangled cluster. of. fuck. because, as you already know, the fuckyou lights died.

May they rest in peace be recycled in Hell.

I’m tempted to hang them… as is.

In which case, they’d pass for a big fat snowball decoration, which makes sense, since I have a strong uncontrollable urge to hit Santa right smack in the wiener with a frozen snowball. And for the record…I don’t throw like a girl.

I think the sadistic light boxer-upper people over in China are laughing their asses off smoking weed on the assembly line.

“He knows when you’ve been good or bad so be good for goodness sake. Oooohhhh… you better watch out!”

The mixed messages sent by trustworthy adults are absolutely riddled with holes.

“Don’t talk to strangers, unless of course they’re dressed like an oversized garden gnome that escaped from the Home Depot and you want a new Xbox for Christmas… then it’s okay, but only during the last two weeks of December.”

How utterly confusing.

Kids are like animals, they can sense danger.

Their instinctual shrill cries, kicking and screaming are your warning signs to abort mission. Get the hell out of Macy’s.

Now.

Run.

I also heard somewhere that if you play the vinyl 45 record of Santa Clause is Coming to Town backwards, it actually sounds like Highway to Hell, which by the way would be an immense improvement.

Just saying.

Not only is the whole Santa thing unsettling, it’s downright unfair to children.

It’s virtually impossible for kids to behave all of the time. Even the most well behaved kids are gonna slip up now and then.

Messing up is what kids do best.

It may not even be big slip ups, but to the normally well behaved kid, something like feeding your asparagus to the cat, tinkling on the guest towel in the bathroom or undressing your baby sisters Barbies and posing them in compromising positions may be enough guilt to send you spiraling over the morality cliff- straight into a life condemned by Santa induced pyscho-therapy.

Santa Substitutes?

After careful consideration, I came up with a list of Santa substitutes that would be significantly less threatening, and therefore more likely to deliver a reaction from children that isn’t terror.

A kinder more gentler holiday mascot without the fangs and claws.

The potential replacements up for consideration are…

*A cutsie spider monkey with a candy cane striped tail. I can imagine this guy swinging from the branches of the Christmas tree. I’d definitely enjoy Christmas trees more if they had monkey’s frolicking in them. Monkey’s are fast, efficient and fun. They could also be rented out anytime after Thanksgiving to complete all of your dreaded holiday errands and attend obligatory functions in your absence. Perfect.

Obviously, they’d poop Hershey kisses.

*The Grinch AFTER he smokes a doobie. (or ten) If he’s feeling too grinchy or he’s already booked up, Cheech or Chong will do in a pinch. Those guys are Fun with a capital F. Plus, they have the required facial hair, can smoke a mean pipe and would be happy to indulge in your obligatory holiday munchy offerings of cookies and milk.

More obscure yet fun replacement options could include…

George Burns.

He’s dead you say?

My point exactly – still less scary than a red velvet garden gnome who smells like beef & cheese.

Technically, she’s not fully decorated but that’s all I’m going to do. If my minion elf staff would like the remaining dozen or so bulbs and tinsel hung, they can do it themselves.

No kidding… we still use tinsel. The only real perk is glittery dog and cat leavings.

Really.

The yard and litter box are beauteous. Even our pets help defecate… decorate.

Yes, live trees are lovely and they smell amazing, but after 20 something years of pine needle enemas, I’ve finally had enough. Who needs the extra work and aggravation during this joyful season of stress, exhaustion and pulling the last hair out of your head?

Count me out.

A couple of years ago, against my families wishes I bought an artificial tree, figuring it would grow on them.

Technically, I lost by a vote of 5 to 1, in favor of a REALmutherfuckingmessofatree.

I don’t concede easily, so I presented my fake tree as now-we’re-one-of-those-hip-families-with-two-trees kinda thing, hoping sooner or later they’d accept it and I’d be free from tree fuckery forever.

Notta.

I’m still waiting.

For the record, it’s not just the sap and needles that makes my hair stand straight up like Marge Simpson, it’s a combo of that and the ceremonial wrapping and unwrapping of the FuckYou lights, which are inevitably tangled, dead or both every. single. time.

I absolutely despise dancing the tango with lights. The end of that chapter almost always involves scissors, alcohol and singing the annual holiday overture called FuckThis and FuckThat.

So, for the next few months, I will be dissecting pine needles out of my unmentionables and chanting the FuckIt overture.

Having sex with a hostile sticky porcupine (which is actually a tree) is número 6 on the… Things that make the season JOYFUL list.

Things that make the holidays JOYFUL #9 is Christmas cards.

Just say no. Let’s save the rain forest together. I for one, am super conscientious of the negative effects deforestation has on my monkey friends.

Monkey’s live, play, eat and fling poop at other monkey’s from trees. (that may or may not be evergreens, but that’s totally not the point here)

One can therefore conclude that Christmas cards are made from bulldozed monkey-family condos and Chuck E. Cheese primate establishments where baby monkey’s eat banana pizza and play Whack-The-guy-in-the-yellow-hat.

Also, if you send one card, you have to send all 75 cards, and quite frankly I no longer have it in me.

My goodwill meter run loweth.

I’m a monkey enthusiast who prefers mischievous furry primates with long tails over most humans and I’m totally okay with it,

Note- I happen to love getting YOUR cards. Keep sending them, especially the ones with photos. I love those. I however, have chosen to become an exclusive e-communicator. If you ever get a hand written note from me, know that I’ve definitely been abducted by aliens.

Things that make the holidays JOYFUL #10

Mutherfucking turkey, which is distinctly different than regular turkey found in glossy magazine photos or that you’re invited to eat in other peoples homes, because it’s dirty greasy carcass is found in your very own kitchen, that’s why.

I’m sorry if I shocked you by blurting out MUTHERFUCKING TURKEY, but it came shooting out of my brain like a kamikaze pilot. It also came directly from the heart, meaning I really meant it.

I’m a ham and lasagna kinda girl from way back, because A. Saucy Italian food trumps meat and potatoes any day and B. Ham is a no nonsense meal. Meaning, you stick it in the oven with unpeeled potatoes and POOF… Dinner is served!

No sticking your entire arm up the turkey’s ass to remove a neck that shouldn’t be in there in the first place, only to turn around and stuff it with stale bread.
Furthermore, the fancy bird-beast requires mashed potatoes, meaning you get to peel (step one), dice (step two), cook (step three), mash (step four), and cleanup (step five) peeler, spoon, mixers, pot, strainer, bowl, not to mention, bandage your bloody knuckles and clean up potato peels that are everyfuckingwhere, except in the garbage can.
Fun fact- potato peels stick infinitely better than those window clings you decorate with on holidays.

Screeeeeeeeeeech!!!

I almost forgot to bitch about the gravy. The hubinator makes his own gravy, adding an open canister of flour of which most is airborne, a colander, sifter, grease separator, small sauce pan and gravy boat to the on-deck prep station adjacent from the sink from Hell. Yes, he makes his own gravy and it’s delicious. A delicious explosion in your mouth and all over your kitchen.

There are so many steps involved in the preparation of turkey, potatoes and gravy that the FuckYou factor is amplified by like a kazillionish.

You could travel to a foreign country and back in the time it takes to prepare and clean up the dreaded aftermath from a festive birdzilla dinner.

Young ladies, take my advice and have the absolutely-NO-turkey-on-holidays verbiage added to your prenup agreement immediately. You will thank me.

Things that make the season JOYFUL #11 is The Groundhogs Day Concept.

The Groundhogs Day Concept-according to the movie starring Bill Murray and not the furry rodents big debut in February that he almost always fucks up.

What I mean is, you wake up and it’s Christmas over and over and over again.

My sister and her family live out of town, so in addition to having a full blown Italian seafood feast on Christmas Eve and a Mutherfucking turkey on Christmas Day, we celebrate with her family after Christmas, accounting for Groundhogs Day #2, 3, 4 or however many days they stay.

The prep, the food, the extra bodies, the clean-up… over and over.

Note- not only do these tiring celebrations extend through Christmas, they continue into the final week of December encompassing my oldest daughters birthday and New Year’s Eve. We’ll call these Groundhogs Day #5 and #6 respectively.

Don’t get me wrong- I love my family.

However, I do not joyfully embrace an entire week of holiday overstimulation.

It hurts my brain and makes me grumpy.

Just ask anyone.

There seems to be no flicker of light at the end of this seemingly endless dark holiday tunnel called perpetual Groundhogs Day.

Numero 12 is…

Batshit Crazy Relatives in the house EARLY.

Holiday Tip- If your son ever breaks a bone the first day of snowboarding-after-you’ve-dumped-several-hundred-dollars-into-equipment, hold on to his extra doctor prescribed feel-good pills with two hands. Use the white knuckle death grip if necessary because those babies will come in handy the Saturday morning after Christmas when you wake up with the headache from hell, and your crazy family calls to say they’re on route to crash your living room like Japanese kamikaze pilots on hallucinogens.

Rewind- I thought I had agreed to having a dinner-thing sometime like after 4:00 pm. It’s not even noon, I have comatose teenage bodies draped across every horizontal piece of nonjagged furniture in my house, dishes and half eaten food everyfuckingwhere, and the now crazies on route.

Just… Shit.

Hell no, I’m not scrubbing my toilets, emptying the trash or even removing this mornings hairball from the stairs.

Pearl Harbor was not a pretty sight.

Things that make the season JOYFUL #12- Batshit crazy relatives in the house… EARLY.

This holiday and post are quickly becoming a nightmare episode of Groundhogs Day where rabid zombie gophers suck the sanity out of our brains using a tiny bar straw.

Quite appropriately, things that make the season JOYFUL #13, the grande finale and unlucky número 13 is… Deep-fried brain cells.

My extended family has finally retreated and the homestead is now marginally quiet. At least until my daughter’s annual New Years Eve/Birthday bash on Tuesday.

God give me strength.

At this point, I’m finding it difficult to put words or more specifically- lucid thoughts together as well as wipe my own drool, because my brain cells seem to be experiencing a sort of coma that’s probably a precursor to brain death.

They’ve gone up in a glittery puff of smoke.

This unfortunate deep-fried state of my grey matter may or may not be the result of random family members prodding my cerebellum with invisible dull corkscrews… or quite possibly from the indulgence of a katrillionish empty calories.

Probably both.

Do not attempt to eat a katrillionish calories at home because you will undoubtedly become a brain dead jiggly amoeba sloth just like me.

I’m seriously afraid to look in the mirror right now, because if Honey Boo Boo’s mom is looking back at me I will freak the fuck out.

Anyway, an amoeba sloth is what the hungry caterpillar really turns into when she gorges on holiday comfort food that’s something like a katrillion cheesy, gooey, deep fried calories dipped in chocolate sauce.

It went something like this…

She ate through two pans of lasagna, one mutherfuckingturkey, three extra cheesy sausage rolls, four trays of Christmas cookies- thosestickybastardmutherfuckers #1 – 4, one fudge roll and one bottle of Godiva chocolate vodka.

Burp.

Nope. There’s no beautiful butterfly here.

No way in hell is this amoeba sloths massive carcass is lifting off the ground.

This has been an Extreme Mom Bedtime Story and holiday exclusive.

All functioning grey matter has been destroyed in the clusterfuck of holiday chaos.

No surprise, as this time of year, chaos tends to completely dominate my existence, much like an elephant sitting on a flea.

Let the brain cell regenerating begin… NOW.

The Things that make the season JOYFUL is far from over.

The grande finale is not when the fat lady sings – Grandma got run over by a reindeer, but when she finally face plants into home base otherwise known as New Years Day.

So, I’m tapping away on my keyboard finally wrapping up the painful conclusion to a three-part sarcastic holiday series I wrote called- Things that make the season JOYFUL and whooooops… apparently, I can’t count.

Somehow, numbers 8 and 9 were lost in the clusterfuck of chaos.

Appropriately, flushed down the toilet like a holiday turd.

No surprise there, as this time of year, chaos tends to completely dominate my existence, much like an elephant sitting on a flea.

Therefore, this post is a proverbial bandaid intended to mend this clusterfuck, so I can put it all to rest once and for all.

This holiday and this post are quickly becoming a nightmare episode of Groundhogs Day where rabid zombie gophers suck the sanity out of our brains using a tiny bar straw.

Numero 9 (I’m putting it ahead of #8 because I fucking said so– K?) is…

Batshit Crazy Relatives in the house EARLY.

Holiday Tip- If your son ever breaks his collarbone snowboarding, hold on to his extra pain meds with two hands. Use the white knuckle death grip if necessary, because those babies will come in handy the Saturday morning after Christmas when you wake up with the headache from hell, and your crazy family is on their way to crash into your living room like Japanese kamikaze pilots on hallucinogens.

Rewind- I thought I had agreed to having a dinner-thing sometime like after 4:00 PM. It’s not even noon, I have sleeping teenage bodies draped across every horizontal piece of nonjagged furniture in my house, dishes and half eaten food everywhere, and the crazies on route.

Hell no I’m not cleaning my toilets, emptying the trash or even removing the newest hairball from the stairs.

Pearl Harbor was not a pretty sight.

Things that make the season JOYFUL #9- batshit crazy relatives…. in the house. Early.

The Things that make the season JOYFUL is far from over. The big moment is not when the fat lady sings, but when I slide into home base, otherwise known as New Years Day… face first.

Then you may applaud LOUDLY.

If I’m not dead, I may join you.

Oh shit, did we forget # 8?

Nope.

Chaos wouldn’t be authentic if things were smooth and orderly.

Appropriately, out of order #8 is fried brain cells.

My extended family has finally retreated and the homestead is now marginally quiet. At least until my daughter’s annual New Years Eve/Birthday bash on Tuesday.

I’m finding it quite difficult to put words and especially thoughts together right now, as my brain cells seem to be experiencing a sort of coma.

So, for now, I shall kick back on the couch in hopes of magically regenerating a portion of my sizzled grey matter.

This fried brain coma state was most likely the result of random family members poking it with invisible dull pins and/or from the consumption of a katrillion calories. Probably both.

You may not have even known the katrillion concept existed. Consider yourself enlightened. Do not attempt to eat this much at home though, because you will undoubtedly become an amoeba sloth like me.

I’m seriously afraid to look in the mirror right now, because if Honey Boo Boo’s mom is looking back at me I will freak the fuck out.

Anyway, an amoeba sloth is what the hungry caterpillar REALLY turns into when she gorges on holiday comfort food that’s something like a katrillion (delicious) calories.

It went something like this…

She ate through two pans of lasagna, one holiday ham, three extra cheesy sausage rolls, four trays of Christmas cookies, one fudge roll and one bottle of Godiva chocolate vodka.

Burp.

Nope. There’s no beautiful butterfly here. No way in hell is this body lifting off the ground. Blame deep fried gravity dipped in a spicy delicious chocolate sauce.

What you do see is an amoeba sloth, which is a slow, jiggly, and rather quiet creature that doesn’t do much of anything except eat, sleep and breathe.

Also, since this description happens to fit so many varieties of the cookies I attempted to bake, I believe I’ll assign them each a number at the end of their like name.

Example- YouStickyBastardMutherfuckers #1 are snickerdoodles, YouStickyBastardMutherfuckers #2 are Italian drop cookies, and so on and so forth.

Things that makes the Season Joyful #11 is Baking Cookies- those StickyBastardMutherfuckers. I love/hate you.

Christmas cards.

Just say no. Let’s save the rain forrest together. I for one, am super conscientious of the effects that deforestation has on my monkey friends. Monkey’s live, play, eat and fling poop at other monkey’s and men wearing yellow hats from TREES.

Christmas cards are made from bulldozed monkey-family condos and Chuck E. Cheese tree establishments where baby monkey’s eat pizza and play Whack-a-mole.

Also, if you send one card, you have to send all 75 cards, and quite frankly I no longer have it in me.

My goodwill meter run loweth.

I’m a monkey preferring person and I’m okay with it,

Things that make the season JOYFUL #12 is NOT sending cards.

Note- I happen to love getting YOUR cards. Keep sending them, especially the ones with photos. I love those. I however, have chosen to become an exclusive e-communicator. If you ever get a hand written note from me, know that I’ve definitely been abducted by aliens.

Next…

Mutherfucking turkey, which is distinctly different than REGULAR turkey that you see in glossy magazine photos or are invited to eat in other peoples homes, because it’s dirty greasy carcass is found in YOUR very own kitchen, that’s why.

I’m sorry if I shocked you by blurting out MUTHERFUCKING TURKEY, but it came shooting out of my brain like a kamikaze pilot. It also came directly from the heart, meaning I really meant it.

I’m a ham and lasagna kinda girl from way back, because A. Saucy Italian food trumps meat and potatoes ANY day and B. Ham is a no nonsense meal. Meaning, you stick it in the oven with unpeeled potatoes and POOF… Dinner is served!

No sticking your entire arm up the turkey’s ass to remove a neck that shouldn’t be in there in the first place, only to turn around and stuff it with stale bread.
Furthermore, the fancy bird-beast requires MASHED potatoes, meaning you get to peel (step one), dice (step two), cook (step three), mash (step four), and cleanup (step five) peeler, spoon, beaters, pot, strainer, bowl, not to mention bandage your bloody knuckles and clean up potato peels that are everyfuckingwhere, except in the garbage can.
Fun fact- potato peels stick infinitely BETTER than those window clings you decorate with on holidays.

Screeeeeeeeeeech!!!

I almost forgot to bitch about the gravy. The hubinator makes his own gravy, adding an open canister of flour of which most is airborne, a colander, sifter, grease separator, small sauce pan and gravy boat to the on-deck prep station adjacent from the sink from Hell. Yes, he makes his own gravy and it’s delicious. A delicious explosion in your mouth and all over your kitchen.

There are so many steps involved in the preparation of turkey, potatoes and gravy that the FuckYou factor is amplified by like a kazillionish.

You could travel to a foreign country and back in the time it takes to prepare and clean up the dreaded aftermath from a festive birdzilla dinner.

Young ladies, take my advice and have the absolutely-NO-turkey-on-holidays verbiage added to your prenup agreement immediately. You will thank me.

Things that make the season JOYFUL #13 Mutherfucking turkey.

The Groundhogs Day Concept-according to the MOVIE and not the furry rodents big debut in February that he almost always fucks up.

What I mean is, you wake up and it’s Christmas over and over and over again.

My sister and her family live out of town, so in addition to having a full blown Italian meal on Christmas Eve and a Mutherfucking turkey on Christmas Day, we celebrate with her family AFTER Christmas, accounting for Groundhogs Day #2, 3, 4 or however many days they stay.

The prep, the food, the extra bodies, the clean-up… over and over. Note- not only do these tiring celebrations extend through Christmas, they continue into the final week of December encompassing my oldest daughters birthday and New Year’s Eve. We’ll call these Groundhogs Day #5 and #6 respectively.

Don’t get me wrong- I love my family.

However, I do not love an entire week of holiday overstimulation.

It hurts my brain and makes me grumpy.

Just ask anyone.

There seems to be no flicker of light at the end of this seemingly endless dark holiday tunnel called perpetual Groundhogs Day.

On a side note, the one thing that has always perplexed me about the movie Groundhogs Day is, whyinthehell doesn’t Bill Murray’s character wise up after repeating the same horrific day, a dozen or so times, and just hide a flask under his pillow so he can immediately start drinking when the alarm-from-hell goes off? This would’ve made his life suck immensely less, in the movie at least.

Not to get off subject or anything, but Bill Murray’s agent has absolutely no foresight on what roles he should NOT play, or maybe he’s just a sadistic son-of-a-bitch who likes watching him get his ass kicked by rodents.

Crazy Carl did not exactly come out victorious in Caddyshack.

Things that make the season JOYFUL #14- a The Groundhogs Day Concept.

The Joyful series was supposed to wrap up after #12, making it- The 12 Painful Days of Christmas, but thanks to the Groundhog’s Day Concept, it keeps going and going and going…

Technically, she’s not fully decorated but that’s all I’m going to do. If my elf staff would like the remaining dozen or so bulbs and tinsel hung they can do it themselves.

No kidding… we still use tinsel. What a shiny disaster that is. The only real perk is glittery dog and cat poop.

Really.

Yes, live trees are lovely and they smell amazing, but after 20 something years of pine needle enemas I’ve finally had enough. Who needs the extra work and aggravation during this joyful season of stress, exhaustion and pulling the last hair out of your head?

Count me out.

A couple of years ago, against my families wishes I bought an artificial tree, figuring it would grow on them.

Technically, I lost by a vote of 5 to 1, in favor of a REALmutherfuckingmessofatree.

I don’t concede easily, so I presented my fake tree as now-we’re-one-of-those-hip-families-w-two-trees kinda thing, hoping sooner or later they’d accept it and I’d be free from tree fuckery forever.

Notta.

Notta yet anyway. I’m still waiting.

For the record, it’s not just the sap and needles that makes my hair stand straight up like Marge Simpson, it’s a combo of that and the ceremonial wrapping and unwrapping of the FuckYou lights, which are inevitably tangled, dead or both every. single. time.

I absolutely despise dancing the tango with lights. The end of that chapter almost always involves scissors, alcohol and singing the annual holiday overture called FuckThis and FuckThat.

So, for the next few months, I will be dissecting pine needles out of my unmentionables and chanting the FuckIt overture.

Having sex with a hostile sticky porcupine (which is actually a tree) is número 6 on the… Things that make the season JOYFUL list.

Don’t try this at home… or anywhere near MY home. Thanks!

In the news-

Fargo, ND – Local resident Todd Fox has been detained for “reckless endangerment” and “illegal use of high-powered fire-breathing weaponry” for attacking snow with his flamethrower. Fox reportedly became so fed up with the week-long blowing snow epidemic in his area that he decided to KILL IT WITH FIRE.
The neighborhood was treated with quite a show last night as Fox unleashed an inferno upon the mountainous snow palace that was his front yard. Neighbors to his immediate right and left noticed a bright orange cloud and could hear what they thought was “puff the magic dragon spewing mayhem all over hell”, which prompted one of them to notify police.
Fox stated that he was simply “fed up with battling the elements” and that he did not possess the willpower necessary to move “four billion tons of white bull shit”.
Police say that Fox surrendered his efforts immediately upon their arrival and that his front yard “looked like a hydrogen bomb had gone off”. They think he was just happy to be done with snow removal, even if it did mean a trip to jail.

This is cool and I totally want one for REAL!!!

Snow melting dragon kicks ass

Snow sucks.

The End.

(For NOW)

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Like this:

Let’s face it, Santa’s one creepy mo-fo.

He’s been scaring the bejeezus out of children and small domestic animals for centuries and it’s certainly not difficult to understand the basis of their raw primal TERROR.

He’s a bizarre looking vagrant who pops up once a year, resembling nothing even remotely familiar in society. It’s true that he could probably pass for a fuzzy mutant garden gnome, but that may not exactly be an asset for him, so we’ll just scratch that and move on.

The BIG guy’s larger than life, he’s squishy in a gooey icky jelly-filled kinda way and his choice of clothing resembles nothing from the current era or even past century.

He’s kinda like a cheesy-looking gargantuan stuffed toy that snuck out of the crane game and magically came to life, ready to pass judgement on the innocent children of the world.

No wonder kids are terrified. Through their eyes they see Chucky from Child’s Play, except the creepy geriatric version; unruly head of hippy hair… in white, Duck Dynasty beard and a huge sack of booze.

I’ve also heard he smells like beef and cheese… or worse.

*gasp*

You have to admit, his image is disturbing and creepy in an Adams Family kinda way.

The mixed messages sent by trustworthy adults are absolutely riddled with holes.

“Don’t talk to strangers, unless of course they’re dressed like an oversized garden gnome that escaped from the Home Depot and you want a new Xbox for Christmas… THEN it’s okay, but only during the last two weeks of December.”

How utterly confusing.

He’s like God- the North Pole version, except he morphs into Satan if you’ve been bad, which is precisely why he puts COAL in your Christmas stocking.

It’s fuel direct from the furnaces of Hell. Makes perfect sense, as Hell is obviously heated with coal.

I also heard somewhere that if you play the vinyl 45 record of Santa Clause is Coming to Town backwards, it actually sounds like Highway to Hell, which by the way would be an immense improvement.

Just saying.

Not only is the whole Santa thing unsettling, it’s downright unfair to children.

It’s virtually impossible for kids to behave all of the time. Even the most well behaved kids are gonna slip up now and then. Messing up is what kids do best.

It may not even be big slip ups, but to the normally well behaved kid, something like feeding your vegetables to the dog, peeing with the seat down or calling your baby sister a poopy head may be just enough guilt to send you spiraling over the morality cliff straight into a life of Santa induced therapy.

After careful consideration, I came up with a list of Santa substitutes that would be significantly LESS threatening and therefore possibly more likely to deliver a reaction from children that ISN’T terror.

Move over Santa, you’re about to be replaced.

And the possibilities are…

A cutsie spider monkey with a candy cane striped tail. I can imagine this guy swinging from the branches of the Christmas tree. I’d definitely enjoy Christmas trees more if they had monkey’s frolicking in them. Monkey’s are fast, efficient and fun. Perfect.

The Grinch AFTER he smokes a doobie. (or ten) If he’s feeling too grinchy or he’s already booked up, Cheech or Chong will do in a pinch. Those guys are Fun with a capital F.

A child Disney star trying to break free of her wholesome image… dressed up like a life-size teddy bear?

Scratch that last one.

It burst into my brain like a wrecking ball. Hate it when that happens.

Jake from State Farm. He’s already up all night. Plus, khaki’s are definitely the more comfortable, and therefore superior wardrobe option when traveling the entire globe in a single night.

The trees from Wizard of Oz festively decorated in tinsel and garland. We’d treat them with Miracle Grow spiked with Prozac first to acertain they maintain a jolly unterrifying disposition throughout the holiday season. Self sufficient Christmas trees. What could go wrong?

Minya the cute little guy from Godzilla who blew OOOOOO’s out of his mouth. He was adorable. Also, kids love to see their breath in the wintertime. This could double as an anti-smoking campaign for children. “Look, I’m Minya…. OOOOOOOOOO!”

Marilyn Manson in a red tutu. Remember, his predecessor was plus-sized redneck senior citizen dressed like a fuzzy fruit cake.